Taking a Breather

 

Taking a Breather

Last night the world stopped breathing.

Maybe it would be more accurate to say that it took a breather. It took a breather from the sounds of the evening–no dogs reprimanding their owners, no pigeons fluttering, no cars screeching their need for fuel or to be let out of garages, no shouts or squeals from the neighborhood kids, no guy gruffly conversing on his phone, no steps up the stairs leading to slamming doors. Nothing. How strange the scarcity of sound was.

The air felt the full weight of silence. We felt it, too, clinging to us like the humidity of the day. 

"Listen...it's like all sounds have stopped..." I announced, hoping the release of the sense of suspension would soften the silence somehow. 

But how can one soften silence? Sometimes it seems to hang around all the more if you pay attention to it. The silence was tangible even as I spoke and then was sucked into it. 

My love and I listened for a while, which really only lasted a nanosecond. He held his fork as I held my breath. Then, I let my breath out and we resumed eating. 

I don't know what the first sound of the world starting again was because I had stopped listening. All I knew is that the earth was breathing again, and I had, too, because I was part of it.

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

Photo: Take a Deep Breath, Colin Poellot